San was one of the few of his fellow beggar-thieves whom Gord associated with and liked. The boy was clever and looked upon him as a mentor, especially since Gord had attained the status of least master.
“What are we going to do, Gord?”
“Easy, San. We just cruise The Strip and look for likely prospects. The Beggarmaster wants hostages to trade for his fat hide’s safety. We’ll line ’em up, and the muscle will knock them over,” Gord said casually, even though he was filled with terrible tension at the assignment. After all, he was small and no match for an experienced thief. What if he somehow bungled the mission?
“Swell!” San said with a grin. “Just show me what to do, and it’ll be easy—you’re the best, Gord!”
Now Gord was even more nervous, for he had hoped that his comrade would have some idea of how to actually set up some tough and accomplished thief for capture. Obviously, his rank placed the burden solely upon his small shoulders.
San was looking at him expectantly, so Gord shrugged and replied, “Right. Just watch me, kid, and follow my lead.”
Getting to their destination had been easy, if somewhat smelly. After passing down through the deep cellar, Gord, San, and three mercenaries garbed in plain cloaks went through the sewers for nearly a mile. Their way was illuminated by a lantern that glowed with an oddly bright and steady light, which Gord concluded must have been cleric-cast light. The use of flame down here could be dangerous, for sewer gas was explosive as well as poisonous. But they had been told that this section was quite safe, and it did seem relatively unused, all in all.
When they reached the place marked with the symbol meaning “good action” in the Beggars’ Sign, they clambered up a long ladder of rusty iron after hooding the lantern and leaving it to swing on a lower rung. One of the burly mercenaries had to lift the heavy grate barring the sewer’s alley drain. Then all five emerged, the drain was closed with its grate again, and the two boys led the expedition through the dark streets of the quiet trade district toward Grand Square. The sword-wielders were well to the rear, and it was not obvious that the two groups had any connection.
Gord and San talked to each other, acted frolicksome, and laughed as normal boys out for fun would do. They walked the long way from near Waghalter Gate, the place in the wall of Old City where they entered the Thieves Quarter, past the Grand Square and Citadel, and through the Halls and Clerkburg rapidly. Their skill at seeming playfulness and dalliance, while they were actually moving quickly toward their destination, would have impressed the Grandmaster of Thieves. Pushing, shoving, and laughter led to one chasing the other, and then the roles were reversed—this was easy!
Once opposite the entrance to The Strip, the pair crossed The Processional and were soon deep among the roiling celebrants of the place. The Thieves’ Guild represented more than robbers, burglars, cutpurses, and the ilk. The organization also controlled gambling, prostitution, swindles, extortion, loan-sharking, fencing of loot, smuggling, forgery, and counterfeiting, to list the more obvious. Most of these activities were going on here, visibly or invisibly.
Against such power, the beggars had few and weak means. Allied with the beggars were the lowly street gangs, quacks, gypsies, tinkers, pedlars, jongleurs, and actors. But none such were in view as the two lads strolled westward along the Street of Delights. There were more than the usual number of ruffians—not the street variety, but out-of-work laborers. Their presence in such large numbers indicated to Gord that they had been paid to roam the area in search of enemies of the Thieves’ Guild. The dull eyes of these toughs passed over both boys without really seeing them. Although it was not really worth the trouble, Gord actually went out of his way to steal the purse of one of these ruffians. They did need a few coins to spend anyway, or they would arouse suspicion when they began a serious search for a target.
A crowded gambling house called the Wheel of Gold drew Gord’s attention. He and San went in casually, and both moved here and there. As a bouncer began eyeing them, Gord produced four bits and tossed the brass coins on a table where wagers were being made on which color hole a rat would appear from. His bet was on white. Nobody else seemed to have any faith in that color, for their bets were stacked in piles of bronze and copper, even a few silver nobles, on the eight other colors. San looked worried, but Gord smiled. Sure enough, the trained rodent eventually came through the hole before the white space. They now had eight brass bits, and Gord took them and left for another game.
“You’re sure lucky!” San remarked to his companion.
Gord was surprised at this. “Lucky? You’re kidding! White was the color that had to win.”
Now it was San’s turn to be surprised. “Don’t try to tell me you can read rats’ minds, Gord!”
“Shit, no!” Gord exclaimed. “Just use your head, dummy. Every other color had a stack of heavy coin on it, and I got my bits down just before the wheel was spun, so the rat had to come out on white.”
“What? I don’t follow you,” San said, abashed.
“The game’s rigged, of course,” Gord explained with the patient voice of a teacher talking to an eager but somewhat slow pupil. “The shills win big, the suckers small, and the rat always comes up on the color the operator selects. There was big sucker money with all of the shills’ coins, so when she scanned the table, the operator went for a big hit, cleaned out the chumps, and we doubled our cash!”
“Why’d she let us win instead of someone else?”
“Four brass bits? You must be jesting! Let’s find our target and quit fooling around.”
As the boys slowly wagered, and their coin supply dwindled, the three mercenaries moved into position nearby. Gord inclined his head only slightly, and the trio directed their attention to a table where dicing was bringing shouts and cheers. There were over a dozen players, mostly men. With another nod and a finger signal, Gord pointed to a fellow dressed in dark blue velvet who seemed more interested in watching than in playing. He had his eye on a drunken river-boat captain who had been lucky indeed this evening; his purse bulged with winnings. The fellow had a pair of sailors with him, but these two were nearly as drunk as their captain, and both had had some measure of good fortune, too. Likely prospects indeed!
Gord and San wandered over to the dicing table and began carefully looking for the associates of the thief in blue, while pretending to be interested in the play and occasionally wagering. When the four others in the thieving group were located, Gord passed the new information to his cohorts in the same manner as he had conveyed the earlier intelligence. The stage was set.
The riverman wasn’t stupid, even if he was well in his cups. When his luck had turned and the heap of coins before him had been reduced to half its former size, he decided to leave. After tipping the operator of the game, the proprietor of the house, and the serving girl who kept his jack filled with ale, all in lavish manner, the captain departed with his two crewmen in tow. All seemed less tipsy than they had while playing, but they were certainly inebriated and less alert than they should have been.
Four of the thieves had left several minutes ahead of the rivermen and taken up casual positions across the street from the Wheel of Gold. The three mercenaries had strolled out the door shortly thereafter and taken up an inconspicuous position a short distance down the street. Not far behind them were Gord and San, who came out the door and leaned against the outer wall of the Wheel of Gold, pretending to be occupied with counting their meager holdings while Gord actually kept a close eye on the proceedings. When the sailors exited the gambling house, they were promptly followed by the head thief in blue, not trying very hard to hide his presence any longer.
Gord had an excellent vantage point, much nearer to the rivermen than the four thieves or his and San’s three cohorts. He noticed one of the sailors nudge his captain and cast his eyes briefly back over his shoulder, and the riverman responded with a small wink as he turned and headed across the street, toward a narrow passage between two buildings.
“Let’s stop down this way for a minute, mates,” the captain said, loud enough for all around to hear. “I needs to let out some o’ that ale I been puttin’ in.” He and his guards continued into the dark corridor, undoubtedly readying themselves to surprise whoever might follow them in. The fellow in blue continued to walk slowly after them, then paused against the wall just outside the passageway while the sailors moved on. The four thieves across the street, meanwhile, had disappeared inside the building adjoining the dark passage. A quick glance down the street told Gord that the mercenaries were likewise nowhere to be seen at the moment—but he trusted that they were on the job.
Counting slowly to himself, Gord estimated the time it would take the quartet of thieves to get through the building and out into the other end of the passage. His estimate was good, for at about the time he thought the four would be ready, the blue-garbed thief came to life. He drew a short sword from under his cape and entered the narrow space between buildings, going into a defensive crouch as he did so. The sound of steel on steel rang out—the rivermen probably carried long dirks, thought Gord, and even in their drunken state might be able to hold off a single swordsman.
Then, suddenly, there were cries of pain and surprise. The four thieves had struck from behind, and the sailors were in serious trouble. Unless one was aware of what was happening, and listening carefully, none of the combat sounds would have meant anything, for the shouts, laughter, shrieks, and music of the adjacent establishments combined with the noises of passersby to make a confused din. All was quiet in the dark passage for a minute, and then more cries and combat-noise came from the corridor—the beggars’ mercenaries were giving the thieves a goodly dose of their own medicine!
It was time for the boys to move in. Gord looked at San, motioned for him to come on, and ran for the place. Gord wasn’t particularly surprised to see that the knife he had taken from concealment and now held ready was duplicated by one that San held. The boy had produced a wicked-looking stiletto—in fact, even longer than Gord’s weapon! Both were flushed with excitement, eager to join in the action.
They approached the entrance to the passageway, one on either side, just as a wounded thief came limping out, trying to get away. He ignored the boys for a second, seeing only curious urchins rather than dangerous foes. Just in time he saw San’s blade darting forward. The man fended off the attack with an easy motion of his own weapon—a dagger as long and nearly as thick as a sword—and in so doing, knocked San to the ground.
As the thief turned and crouched to stab San, Gord’s blow to the left side of his neck took him by complete surprise. The knife bit deep, and the man spun, trying to nail his new attacker, but it was too late. A heartbeat later he fell forward, dead. The boys quickly dragged the body back into the darkness of the passageway where some conflict still raged. Wisely, the two opted to strip the dead thief rather than attempt to mix it up in the confused melee near the middle of the passage. Gord took the thief’s dagger and a ring from his finger. San searched for purse and pocket contents. Thereafter both crouched near the corpse, waiting to see what would transpire. The commotion ended with the thud of a body falling heavily onto the stones of the gangway.
“Theobald…” a voice hissed. The recognition signal—the mercenaries had indeed done their jobs well!
“Gord and San here,” Gord replied. “The one seeking escape is dead!”
“Good work, lads!” the whispered reply came. “Let’s take our prize and get the hell out of here. There’ll be a devil of an uproar hereabouts soon.”
The beggar boys joined the three mercenaries—who were breathing hard, but otherwise unscathed—and helped them finish looting the bodies. All of the others were dead—rivermen, thieves, the lot—save the man in velvet. Somehow the fighters had managed to pummel him senseless without slaying him, although he was wounded and bleeding.
It took a few moments for them to finish their stripping and rearranging. When they were done, the lads exited the passageway, followed shortly thereafter by four men. One appeared to be a drunken soldier of some sort, and the others were waterfolk, helping their passed-out captain back to his ship somewhere on the docks.
Chapter 6
Life aboard a gypsy barge was strange to Gord. Not that he minded the change, but it was odd. The group had managed to get through the River Quarter and through the Cargo Gate to the wharves beyond. Instead of seeking some ship, however, they had gone up toward Shack Town and met friendly Rhennee bargemen there—just what their instructions had told them to expect. Before dawn the still-unconscious thief had been bound, gagged, and rolled into an old carpet. A pedlar’s wagon would soon have the prize moved to a place from where he could be spirited into the Beggarmaster’s mansion.
And a prize he was indeed! Gord and his cohorts had learned, from a knowledgeable barger, that the fellow was none other than Ladav Idnorsea—a great thief, swindler, con artist, and impersonator. Some said that he was a likely candidate for Guildmaster one day soon. Score one for Theobald—and for Gord!
Now the two boys and three sellswords were housed aboard a small fleet of barges sheltering in a small backwater between the docks and the sprawl of Shack Town. This was now to be their base of operations, according to new instructions received by Gord from the pedlar who had picked up their “merchandise.”
When he found that the new orders were addressed directly to him, Gord was flattered and a bit flabbergasted. He was just entering his thirteenth spring, he guessed, and was not used to being treated as anything other than a lad. Now the Beggarmaster was having orders passed on to him as if he were an adult, and an important minion of the Union at that! In the deepest voice he could muster, he had told the three fighting men of the change, and they accepted his instruction without a blink. Perhaps this was because of the new dirk that swung openly from his belt in this relaxed surrounding. But, the trio of mercenaries did actually treat both Gord and San with some respect—not considering them equals, perhaps, but at least worthy associates with skill in their own callings. San reveled in this exalted status, and Gord felt much the same way—but, as befits a leader, he kept his feelings more to himself.
The Rhennee were a puzzle to Gord. They were smallish and dark, much as he was. They seemed enthusiastic and bashful all at the same time. They spoke loudly yet in a self-effacing manner, but they were quick and very quiet when they wished to be so. That they could fight and steal, Gord knew. The mercenaries showed these folks healthy respect, and Gord had heard many tales extolling their virtues as thieves. Fortunately, they were not allied to the Thieves’ Guild. Gord realized that they were too free-spirited and independent to accept such an arrangement, and this was apparently why they had chosen to cast their lot on behalf of the Beggars’ Union, which was also resisting the pressure of the Guild in its own distinctive way. Somehow, Gord felt, there was more to these Rhennee than met the eye. Without committing himself to any firm conclusion, Gord suspected that the Rhennee were quite unusual and something to be reckoned with.
If the men were interesting and capable, their womenfolk were doubly so. The girls were mostly breathtaking in appearance and bold in behavior—to a point. But the elder females seemed to be something mystical, a cross between seer, witch, and clerical matriarch. The young women deferred to the men with respect and downcast eyes, while the old women were deferred to in turn by the toughest of the men. That circle appealed to Gord. He’d happily have a lovely and submissive concubine while seeking guidance and wisdom for his actions from a grand matron. But then, Gord was young and understood little of life….
When they weren’t making excursions into the city, all five of the Beggarmaster’s agents were dressed as bargefolk. Brightly garbed in satins and gaudy accessories, they moved freely among the two dozen interconnected barges. No watcher would suspect that they were anything other than Rhennee. They had been here for more than a sennight now, and three other trips to The Strip and neighboring districts had netted them l
ittle in the way of hostages for Theobald. Several dead thieves could be credited to their activity, however, and all of them had acquired a fair amount of spoils from their efforts on behalf of the cause.
But Gord had the feeling that their luck would not hold for much longer, and he had begun to yearn for a change of scenery. Although staying on the barges was interesting and exciting, and this had certainly proved to be an effective base from which to carry out further raids on the thieves, he was eager to get back to find out what was happening in the Thieves Quarter. Besides, he had a fair stash of coins hidden there, and a score to settle with Theobald.
Gord was feeling confident now that he would somehow be able not only to get revenge on the dirty, fat bastard who had slain Violet, but also to profit big in the process. He was willing to trade his independence on the fringe of things for the chance to again be in the heart of the action, even if that meant being at someone else’s beck and call. Anyway, he had promised a young girl named Adaz that he would go with her to the waters of the Nyr Dyv one day soon, and he really believed deep inside that his fate would eventually return him to the Rhennee. Now it was time for other activities, however.
[Greyhawk Adventures 01] - Saga of Old City Page 5